Lessons in Pleasure Read online

  Perhaps James would touch her again tonight. Perhaps he would stroke her and urge her on.

  By the time her maid knocked and asked if she’d like to dress for dinner, Sarah’s skin felt too tight, her clothing too stiff. The idea of putting on a heavier gown for the evening made her cringe, but she rose anyway, carefully repacked the books in their paper, then hid the bundle under the bed.

  James would be home soon, and she must be dressed to receive him, whether he stayed for dinner or not.

  “Ma’am,” Mary greeted her, already removing a dress from the wardrobe.

  Sarah stared at the moss-green cotton that spilled over her maid’s arms. Glancing into the jumble of colors in the wardrobe, she shook her head. “I shall wear the yellow silk tonight.”

  Mary only nodded and switched the dresses.

  “And my hair . . . perhaps in a fall down my back?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mary seemed completely unfazed by her mistress’s requests, but Sarah felt so different she wondered that it wasn’t visible. Surely her lips were pinker, her breasts fuller? But if her own maid didn’t notice, likely no one would, perhaps not even James. He might simply come home, relax with a brandy and the newspaper, then head out for an evening at his club. The thought caused a flutter of relief along with mortification.

  She could not wait for him to be home. And she was scared half to death.

  * * *

  The sun was still high in the sky when James found himself mounting his front steps that evening. Not that he could see the sun past the thick clouds that had gathered above London, but the day still felt too bright for the kinds of thoughts crowding his head.

  After that disastrous luncheon this afternoon, James had been perfectly sure that he would flee to his club for the evening and avoid the discomfort he’d forced between him and his wife. Sarah simply wasn’t that kind of woman. He’d proved he could coax pleasure from her beautiful body, but in the process, he’d frightened and disturbed her, forced her to a place she did not wish to go. She was a wife, not a doxy.

  That had been his thinking all through the meal, while Sarah avoided his eyes and asked pleasant questions.

  But then he’d kissed her.

  Knowing he should leave it be, he’d still kissed her. And thank God he had.

  She’d drawn in a sharp breath just before her lips offered their own fleeting pressure. When he’d looked into her eyes, they’d gone black, dilated with pleasure. Her lips remained slightly parted as if she might welcome another kiss.

  After that, James hadn’t known what to think, but he’d come home early with great hopes of puzzling it out.

  “Mr. Hood,” Crawford murmured, offering a bow even as he took James’s hat and gloves. “The evening paper awaits you in the library. May I bring a refreshment as well?”

  “Ah . . . I’m not sure. Is Mrs. Hood in?”

  “I believe she is in her chambers, sir. Shall I send word that you are home?”

  James glanced toward the stairs, weighing his options. He thought of that kiss. “Yes, please do. And can Cook have dinner prepared in half an hour?” He hadn’t managed to choke down much of the cold beef on his plate this afternoon.

  Waiting in the library, he paced from the window to the fireplace and back again. And again. His heart had broken today when her eyes had filled with tears. The thought that he might have hurt her was almost as bad as on their wedding night, when he’d known he must. He’d had to choke down three fingers of whisky that night before going to her. He was beginning to think he might need the same tonight.

  Except that he hadn’t imagined the way she’d responded to him in the dark. Surely he hadn’t. Her whimpers of desire. Her body arching into his, needing.

  The click of the door latch stopped his pacing. Sarah’s voice stopped his heart.

  “James?” she whispered, so tentative.

  But when he turned and saw her there, his fears tumbled away like brittle leaves.

  * * *

  Self-conscious at the intensity of his stare, Sarah smoothed a hand down the side of her gown. His eyes followed, making her anxiety worse.

  She looked foolish, wearing a dress more appropriate for a dinner party than an evening at home. Far too much of her bosom was revealed, as if she wanted him to stare there. And her hair . . . tumbling down her back like an opera singer’s. She’d thought that putting effort into her appearance would be a subtle way of inviting her husband to seduce her. But now she was too exposed. Stripped of any pretense of innocence in this game.

  “You are so beautiful,” James said simply. His eyes did not leer; they glowed, and her heart swelled in response.

  “Thank you.” Her voice seemed to disappear in the large room, but it did not matter. Her husband was drawing closer.

  He whispered her name, touched his hand to her cheek, and when she raised her head to look at him, he kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the first soft brush of his mouth. Then his tongue grazed her bottom lip and she opened for him, welcomed him into her body. The kiss was soft and slow. Not a promise of more to come, but an act in and of itself. As if they had a lifetime to explore each other’s bodies. And they did.

  James broke the kiss first, and she was forced to lean against him for support. “I have been dreaming of kissing you all day,” he murmured.

  Sarah tried to hide her pride. “But we only just kissed a few hours ago.”

  “Yes. And however short a time before we kiss again tonight, I’m certain it will feel an eternity. Men are quite cursed. When a man desires a certain woman, he can think of little else.”

  She blushed and put a little distance between them, unable to flirt and look him in the face at the same time. “Mm? And what of women?” From the corner of her eye, she watched him follow her progress as she strolled from the doorway toward the window.

  “I’m not sure,” he finally answered. “Have you ever found yourself consumed with thoughts of kisses?”

  Sarah curled her fingers into the drapery and squeezed hard to push some courage into her veins. The curtain rod gave a small creak, so she forced herself to loosen her hold. Then she took a deep breath and turned toward her husband, though she couldn’t manage to raise her gaze from the carpet. “Yes,” she admitted to the reds and golds of the Oriental tapestry, “even more than kisses . . . sometimes.”

  They both held their breath after that. Only the ticking of the clock, suddenly loud, pierced the silence for a few torturous moments. Her heart struggled in desperate panic.

  James finally inhaled, then breathed out one soft word. “More?”

  She’d forced out all the bold talk she could, so Sarah only nodded.

  “I was afraid . . .” he started, then shook his head. “I was afraid I had frightened you.”

  That made her smile, and she managed to glance up for a brief moment. “I was afraid I had frightened you.”

  The unbearable tension broke on the wave of his laughter. “Never think that. You please me to no end, my love.”

  “Will you . . . ?” She cleared her throat. “Will you stay for dinner, then?”

  His smile changed subtly, shifting from amusement to satisfaction. “Yes.” His eyes drifted down her yellow gown. “I had no plans to go anywhere at all.” Then he met her gaze.

  Oh, mercy. Now James was changed, too. A different creature than when he’d first returned from work. Instead of joviality, his green eyes glinted something dangerous. His jaw was harder, etched from a material more ruthless than flesh.

  The new mood in the room reminded her of the countryside in the fall, when buck deer would suddenly transform from gentle, pretty animals to fierce creatures bunched with muscle. The males wanted something, and they seemed mad with that want. But the doe responded, just as Sarah was responding to her husband’s possessive gaze.

  It was frightening to be wanted so. Frightening and stunningly exciting.

  When he stepped toward her, Sarah tensed with the impulse to
flee. She was too new to this to respond any other way, regardless of her intentions. But a shadow fell into the room, and Crawford bowed from the doorway. “Sir, madam, if it pleases you, dinner will be served when you are seated.”

  James stared at her a moment longer, but when he blinked, the spell was broken. “Madam,” he said, offering a little bow before he held out his arm.

  The imagined danger had passed and, with a sigh of mild relief, Sarah went to him and took his arm. The simple touch made her burn.

  * * *

  My wife thinks of more than kissing.

  James clutched his glass of port and stared daggers at the library clock.

  My wife, he repeated to himself, thinks of more.

  When this change had started, he had no idea. Had there been new signs of passion he’d missed? Was it only that she’d begun to trust him? Perhaps it simply took time for a restrained gentlewoman like Sarah to become accustomed to a man’s touch. Whatever the reason, he could think of nothing else now.

  The second hand of the clock had become weighted down, too heavy to keep the right time, he was sure of it. According to that blasted clock, Sarah had excused herself only five minutes before to prepare for bed.

  Dinner had been enjoyable, despite the fact that James had been in a painful state for most of it. And at the end, Sarah had stood, hands still clutching her serviette, and announced that she was quite worn out. “I must call Mary to help me ready for bed. Please enjoy your port.” She’d practically run from the room, and left James standing there alone, still caught up in the lovely memory of the pale rise of her breasts above the neckline of her gown.

  He knew she wasn’t readying for sleep; sunset was barely upon them. No, she was readying for him.

  Six minutes. Was six minutes enough? It would have to be.

  James set his drink down with a purposeful clink and headed for the stairs.

  When he reached his dressing room, he paused to listen. Not a sound from their bedchamber. Was she lying in bed, waiting for him? Thinking about more? James tugged off his tie, slipped out of his jacket, and turned the door handle.

  “Oh!” a female voice gasped. His wife or her maid. He couldn’t be sure. They’d both turned to gape at him. The maid’s hands had frozen over the ties of Sarah’s corset. Her dress was gone, her bustle and petticoats as well.

  “I . . .” James tried to think what to say, but his mind was occupied with sending up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t strolled through the door in the buff. “I apologize,” he finally managed. “I see I did not give you enough time.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, it is just that Mary wasn’t expecting me so early and—”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Mary murmured, bobbing a curtsy. “Ma’am.” She hovered for a moment, clearly uncertain if she should continue with her task.

  James cleared his throat. “Shall I . . . ?”

  His wife looked from him to the maid and back again. “I’m sure we can . . . Um, Mary, if you could only unknot the strings?”

  Mary’s fingers sprang to action and worked at the laces as if her life depended upon it. A few moments later, the knot gave way to her determination. Before the ties fluttered to rest against Sarah’s back, the maid had dropped her curtsy and spun toward the opposite dressing room door. The door closed, and they were alone.

  The skin of her shoulders gleamed in the lamplight. Her cheeks were soft pink when she started to turn toward him, but then she paused and turned her back again, and James watched the blush creep toward the nape of her neck. The combination of her modesty and her bare skin twined together and dug deep into his body. She was so innocent, and still she wanted him.

  Trying to tamp down the need that already throbbed through him, James slowly crossed the room. He paused a foot from her, taking in the sight of her cinched waist and gauzy chemise. He’d never seen her thus: fully covered, but completely indecent. When he reached for her stays, his hands trembled.

  Her gasp echoed through the room when he moved his fingers beneath the crossed strings and tugged. A few more pulls, and her ribs expanded as she inhaled a deep breath. Something about the breath rushing past her lips made him even harder.

  She pressed both hands to her waist to unlatch the front hooks, and the corset fell to the floor to land at her feet. They stared at it together, but when James noticed the way she rolled her shoulders, he put a hand to her back to rub the tension away.

  Reveling in the surprising heat of the slightly damp linen, James pressed his thumb along the edge of her spine.

  “Ah,” she sighed.

  “It must be a relief to take that thing off.”

  “Yes.”

  He put his other hand to work on the left side of her spine.

  “Oh, James. That feels so good.” Her head bowed, stretching her neck out for his view, only inches away. Tempted, he lifted the heavy fall of her hair and pushed it over one shoulder. Now her spine was exposed from the middle of her back to her hairline. His thumbs crept up to bare skin and elicited a soft whimper with each circle he pressed to her muscles. The sounds vibrated through the pads of his fingers and chased along his nerves until his cock throbbed.

  As soon as he reached her shoulders, he stepped closer and put his mouth to the side of her neck, finally tasting her. This new, wanton Sarah let her head fall to the side so that he could nibble to his heart’s content. Even more surprising, she pressed her backside to his erection.

  “Will you . . . ?” She took a breath and tried again. “Will you douse the lamps?”

  James didn’t bother answering; he simply let go of her shoulders and moved toward the closest lamp. But it made no difference. The faint light of the lowering sun still exposed her to his view. He did not volunteer to close the thicker drapes. Instead, he began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Eyes wide, she watched, gaze lowering as each button slid free. When he shrugged the shirt off entirely, her eyes closed.

  “Does my body disturb you?” He tried to ignore the sharp hurt that caused.

  “Of course not.” Her eyelids rose, her gaze darted frantically over his chest, then to the floor, back to his body and then his eyes. “I should not like to stare.”

  Honest relief made him smile. “You wouldn’t like to or you are trying to be all that is proper?”

  Her attempt to answer his smile did not quite succeed, so he only took her hand and led her across the room to their bed. “Close your eyes, Sarah,” he murmured.

  Facing him, she stood still and closed her eyes, not offering a protest when he reached for the hem of her chemise and slowly dragged it up. First her drawers were revealed, stark white against her ivory skin. Then her belly, soft and smooth.

  James averted his eyes when he pulled the chemise over her head. He wanted to see all of her, needed that, so before taking her in, he reached for the tie of her drawers and freed her from every stitch of fabric.

  Then . . . By God. The moonlight views he’d stolen of his wife were nothing to this. Her rose-tipped breasts a bit too small to fill his hand. Her waist where it nipped in just before flaring out to succulent hips. Her sex, the dark curls of her mound. James held back a hum of approval.

  Though her hands fisted at her sides, Sarah did not cover herself. She only stood, eyes closed, and let him look.

  James went to his knees. His fingers felt too thick as he fumbled at the clasps of her stockings. All his coordination had been stolen by the shock of the view. He could see past her curls from this vantage to the beckoning pink beneath. He could smell her heat, the musky scent of feminine arousal. His mouth watering, he thought of kissing her there. Would she cringe in horror? Would she sob in pleasure?

  The idea of shocking her proved impossibly tempting. He wanted her shocked. Scandalized. By him.

  He pushed the stockings down, one at a time, then smoothed his palms back up her bare legs, slowly, slowly. When he reached her outer thighs, he pushed farther around, so that his hands slipped up to the perfect roundne
ss of her buttocks. Sarah gasped, and her hips jumped forward just a bit, offering a more generous peek of glistening pink.

  His mouth watered for a taste. Just a taste. How could she know if he didn’t show her?

  James spread his fingers out, taking a firmer grip on her round bottom. Then he pressed one chaste kiss to the triangle of dark curls that tempted him.

  “Oh!” she gasped. But she did not pull away.

  He kissed again, lower, and let the tip of his tongue delve in to graze her plump flesh.

  “James, don’t!”

  Cursing himself for a beast, he ignored her and slid his tongue lower, feeling her lips part just the tiniest bit at his thrust. He’d finally found the taste of her, pleasure on his tongue.

  “You can’t . . .” she protested, finally touching him. Her hand curled into his hair and pulled. “Please don’t.”

  James looked up her body, past the curve of her belly and the jut of her breasts. “Open your eyes,” he urged. Sarah shook her head. “Open your eyes,” he said more firmly, telling himself he’d stop now if she didn’t. He’d stop and apologize and tuck her beneath the sheets. But Sarah opened her eyes.

  Willing her to yield, James darted his tongue against her slit. When he looked back to her, her whole face had tightened. He held her with his eyes and shifted his hands lower to tug her legs apart. She slid her feet only a few inches, but it was enough. This time his tongue parted her lips and he was sliding over that pearl of hard tissue.

  Her hand clenched in his hair and she gasped. He knew it felt good to her, because he could taste her pleasure. He licked again, flicked his tongue over her bud, and when her thighs began to shake, he eased her to the bed. Yes, now she was spread before him, deep and pink and wet, and James could hardly think.

  He’d done this before, only a few times. But this was his wife, letting him suck at her, letting him push his tongue into her center, and he almost could not bear it.